Come Sunday
by Yumi-chan-likes-chainsaws
Summary: Kid!AU. The three times a plaster solved everything and the one time it couldn't.


**_Yumi- For the summer camp on livejournal's usxuk community_**

**_Bob- update your multichapters!_**

**_Oko- It's pointless; she's a procrastinator at heart_**

**_Yumi- *not listening*_** **_Anyways, this contains the OCs of Scotland, N. Ireland, Wales, Britannia and Mexico and some other humans, none of which say much. Canada is also nyotalia, but she doesn't say much either. If any of this is a problem, dont read ^^. If it isn't, happy reading, I guess ^_^_**

-x-

**{{Come Sunday**;;

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When Alfred was nine years old, he'd fallen off the tall, wooden, fence that marked off his back garden while trying to help a 'stuck' cat from the tree it was perched in outside in the green.

The cat, a cantankerous old thing, had obviously not seen that the boy was on a rescue mission and had attempted to scratch his eyes out when he reached in to pet it, reassure it. Alfred had cried out, surprised when the cat's paw came within two centimetres of his face, waving his arms wildly as he fell forward and on to the tarmac path situated between the grass and houses in his suburban estate.

That's where Arthur found him, not three minutes later, face first in the grass and feet pressed up against the fence, his knees cut and oozing blood, groaning as he attempted to pick himself up on scratched hands, but was too disorientated to do anything but turn himself over onto his back, wincing lightly.

He remembered seeing the other boy standing over him, his face very close as he hunched down on the balls of his feet to ask if he was okay. Alfred had just chuckled and replied, "Sure, I've had worse. Just give me a second."

Arthur hadn't heeded him of course; Alfred would later learn of Arthur's habit of turning a blind eye to absurdities, unless they were completely insane and deserved a telling off for. The other ran into his house, four doors down, and returned with a translucent box of assorted medical bandages, kneeling down beside Alfred and quickly getting to work.

Alfred had stared at him, watching as he took out some antiseptic wipes and rubbed lightly on his two knees; Alfred had managed to sit up to let Arthur do this. "I wont be able to do much," Arthur had warned as he brushed the wipes against the scratches, making Alfred flinch again. "It doesn't look too bad anyways."

"How did you know I was here?" Alfred asked; the stinging wasn't so bad anymore and Arthur was relenting anyways, so it didn't matter much anyhow.

"I saw you out my window, over there," Arthur replied hastily, waving a hand at the building he had entered and exited two minutes previously, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead or anything, don't g-get me wrong here."

Alfred watched as Arthur hurried through his medicine box again, looking for something else. "You're Arthur right? You were in my school," Alfred said, being polite and making small talk as he was so often told to do with people by his parents, "Why don't you ever come out to play if you live so close?"

Arthur looked up for a second from his search, looking at Alfred for any hint of sarcasm in his earnest expression before mumbling, "I don't _play, _alright. I'd just get pushed around, so what's the point. I can't play any sports and stuff so I'd just get laughed at. I don't bother anymore."

Alfred watched as Arthur pulled out a plaster, not nearly big enough to cover his scratches, and placed it just below the wound on his right knee. Forgetting the previous conversation momentarily, Alfred decided to point this out. "Hey, you're doing it wrong. That doesn't help at all."

Arthur's moth twitched up at the sides in an almost smile as he patted down the plaster. "No, I know what I'm doing," he said simply, standing up and brushing off his knees to admire his handy work. "It feels better once you've got a plaster on it, it seems, and this also allows air to get at the wound."

The younger boy gaped like a fish, his expression rising a light chuckle from Arthur. "Woah! I never thought of that!" he replied enthusiastically, "And it does feel better! Thank you!"

Arthur watched him and smiled slightly with a small, "Don't mention it," as he began to make his way back to his house, medicine box in his arms.

"Wait!" Alfred yelled out, stumbling to his feet and waiting impatiently for Arthur to turn around, a questioning look etched upon his features.

"Yes?"

"Will you come out and play with me tomorrow?" Alfred asked eagerly, hopping from one foot to the other, "You don't have to play football if you don't want to."

Arthur looked sceptical and after a few moments of watching the boy's hopeful face, he managed a "Maybe," before running headlong into his house.

The next day, just as Alfred, who was hitting flies and bees with an old branch off a tree, was giving up on waiting, Arthur appeared out of his house, some storybook under his arm as he muttered defensively about grade seven's having more homework than Alfred while Alfred just grinned widely and blathered on about soldiers and heroes and his pet spider called Dracula.

-x-

Alfred was going on ten, in the summer following that spring, when he was invited to go to Arthur's house. Arthur was flustered and apologetic about any lack of time to tell his parents about his whereabouts but Alfred just reassured him that it was only down the road and his mum and dad were out anyways.

Arthur didn't have a father, Alfred noted, as only his mother was in the house at the time and in any of the photos on the mantelpiece. Arthur's mother was a nice woman, shaking his hand as if he was a grown up and introducing herself as, "Bethany, but you can call me Beth."

As opposed to Arthur's off blonde hair, his mother's hair was bright red, almost orange in colour. Arthur said later, when his mum had given them some sweets and sent them up to his room, that his brother's took after her more in looks.

When he mentioned it, Alfred did remember seeing some older boys with red hair in some of the photographs and asked briefly, "Where are they anyways?"

"They're a lot older than me," Arthur explained, "Two are in college and one's in year twelve. He barely comes home nowadays anyways."

Alfred grinned. "I would've loved to have a brother, but I only have two sisters and they're really annoying."

Arthur had grimaced, replying sullenly, "Don't wish brothers upon yourself. They always used to pick on me when I was younger for being small. I'm already five years younger than the second youngest, so it wasn't that difficult for them to gang up on me."

Alfred laughed lightly before telling him, "One time, my older sister put me in a dress and tied my hair up with ribbons, hey!"

Arthur had begun to laugh, almost hysterically at the idea of the boisterous youth in front of him in some pink frock with pigtails, much to Alfred's annoyance. "That's not fair! Don't laugh at me! I was only, like, four!"

So the boys continued to argue over whose siblings were worse, and Alfred told Arthur about how his Dad worked all the time and his Mum was never around and, in turn, Arthur told Alfred about the father he never knew and his Mum getting sick a lot and him having to watch over her. They talked until Arthur's mom called them down for tea.

Unlike Arthur- his home economics grades seemed to be the only low marks in his string of A's- his mother was a reasonably good cook, and had made cookies from scratch and was just letting them cool on the counter for a while.

Alfred watched them out of the corner of his eye, conspicuously as Bethany called in, "They aren't ready yet! Eat your sandwiches first boys!"

With the childish logic of 'the faster I eat then the quicker the cookies will cool', Alfred scoffed his sandwiches in a couple of bites, leaving Arthur only one bite in, watching him in dismay as he trotted over to the counter to nick a cookie before the adult came back.

Sadly, the obvious reason why you leave things to cool is because they're hot as Alfred figured out when he placed a hand down on the metal tray and felt the white heat soar through the palm of his hand.

He fell backwards with a yelp, waving his hand wildly and blowing it, trying to ease the feeling of bitter warmth prodding and searing his skin. Arthur had abandoned his sandwich when he saw the commotion and jumped off his seat to assist by grabbing Alfred's flailing hand and shove it under the now flowing cold tap.

Alfred whimpered as the stinging eased slightly but Arthur held his wrist strongly, his fingers tight around it. His mother came rushing in after hearing Alfred's cry and tutted at the two, sending Arthur for the ever present first aid box.

She then was the one to hold Alfred's hand under the tap, lightly scolding him for being impatient as Alfred avoided her eyes, as guilty children do.

Arthur raced haphazardly in a couple of seconds later with the same box he had brought out all those weeks ago, placing it on the counter beside the dangerously hot cookies and grabbing some burn cream out of it and placing it in his mother's outstretched hand.

She sighed, pulling Alfred's palm out of the water, twisting the tap off before grabbing a teacloth to mostly dry his hand. She then popped open the tube and poured some onto her palm and applied it to Alfred's. Alfred braced himself, just to realize that it didn't sting at all, like he expected. He watched curiously as Bethany rubbed it in until it only glistened on his hand.

Bethany smiled at him once she was done, capping the tube and putting it back in the box Arthur was now holding out to her. Once everything was place back in it's correct positions, Arthur scurried off to put the box back wherever it belonged.

The woman then walked over to the tray, picked one cool cookie off the tray and handed it to Alfred in his non burnt hand. Alfred stared up at her with wondered eyes and she chuckled. "That's for not making a big fuss," she told him smiling, "They're cool now."

Alfred let his grin split from ear to ear as he took a giant bite out of the biscuit, still smiling away as he chewed, giving the woman a thumbs up for her culinary skills. Bethany smiled and tottered off to do whatever she had been doing before Alfred had cried out, and Arthur slinked back into the room.

Alfred sat down on his seat, still munching, swinging his legs and seemingly forgetting that only a few minutes earlier his hand had been singed, directing his friend over to the cookies with a swish of his hand. "Your mom says they're cool now," he tried to say, but it came out as a 'mu muhmf mus mahrool mrow' instead. Still Arthur seemed to understand him and grabbed one for himself and sat back down in his own seat.

"That was kind of stupid," Arthur told him, taking a small bite of his own biscuit, "You knew they weren't cool yet."

"Yeah, I know that _now_," Alfred chuckled lightly, finishing off his treat and licking the tips of his fingers appropriately.

Arthur placed his biscuit down on the table, rummaging in his pocket for something and finding it as he pulled a plaster out of his back pocket and beckoned Alfred to give him his arm. Alfred finished licking crumbs and gave a grumbling Arthur his arm. The plaster was placed on his elbow and Alfred grinned wider again.

"Thank you!" he laughed and Arthur managed a small smile, "Much better now!"

"You're welcome," Arthur smiled lightly, "Do you want another cookie?"

"Do I ever?"

-x-

Alfred was eleven when he entered middle school, and he soon found that having a pet spider called Dracula and a Superman comic book collection wasn't as cool as it had seemed in grade school. Suddenly he shouldn't be playing football because he wore glasses and he was a nerd because his grades were reasonably good.

Arthur was in grade nine now, and, being two whole years older than him, it seemed difficult to run to him every time someone made a nasty comment. He didn't like to ruin whatever little respect Arthur himself had by latching on to him, as, by other classes, it seemed year sevens, such as himself, were the bottom of the food chain around these parts.

So, at lunch time, he sat outside on the grass and read a book or drew some comic sketches with stickmen and superheroes in the back of his science hardback, eating whatever sandwich his sister had haphazardly thrown together for him that morning.

One day, Arthur wandered over to where he was sitting and plonked down beside him, a book under his arm and a small smile on his face. "Hey," he said slightly, looking over Alfred's shoulder to see what he was drawing, "Doodling?"

Alfred nodded, glancing around him, already hearing the voices of the other boys on the pitch, playing football like he wished he could. Arthur looked at him, raising an eyebrow before eyeing up the pitch that they were on the sidelines of. "Why aren't you playing? I thought you liked football?"

Alfred looked away and, his face tinting with mortification, mumbled, "They won't let me."

Arthur blinked. "Why not?"

"They don't like me very much." Alfred was biting his lip now, trying not to let it wobble but was failing miserably as it was wobbling as clear as anything and tears were starting to escape his eyes. Arthur made a face and leaned in to wipe them of his cheeks.

"Come on now," he hushed, "Stop that, people will stare if they notice."

Alfred choked, desperately trying to stop but finding himself unable to now that he had started. He let a sob escape his lips and Arthur noticed a year eight girl looking in their direction with some sort of smirk plastered on her porcelain features. Not wanting to stoop to such a level but finding it necessary, his flipped her off and watched with bitter amusement as she glared and huffed, toddling off.

"Come on, let's go inside," he said, grabbing Alfred by the arm as he tried to block his eyes with his sleeve, just making everything more noticeable. Arthur pulled it down, but not before some of the boys on the pitch noticed.

"Hey Jones, why are you crying?" one of them yelled over, smirking as his friend punched him friendlily on shoulder, "You're such a freaking wimp! Did you stub your toe or something?"

His friends chortled and Alfred whimpered lightly, clinging to his own shirt and his other hand going limp in Arthur's. Arthur scowled, dropping Alfred's hand and stomping forward to where the boys were standing.

"Excuse me," he asked, mock sweet, "Do you have a problem or something?"

The boy laughed, albeit slightly nervous. "Oh, so Jones has to get his big brother to fight his battles for him, does he?"

Arthur grinned, but it didn't look friendly at all and the other boy took a step back warily. "I'm not his brother," Arthur said slowly, pronouncing every syllable, "I'm his _friend_, which is more than any of you will ever be, to each other or to him. So why don't you lot go back to playing your pathetic football game which is never going to matter one you get to high school, when the _real_ game begins, and shut the hell up? Because, if I hear you saying one cross word to anyone ever again, not just Alfred, there will be quite the consequence."

The other boy nodded quickly, his friends now scattered and few around him. "Got it."

"Good," Arthur sneered, and he turned on his heel and grabbed Alfred's arm again, pulling it all the way off the pitch and into the school's boy's bathrooms. Once there, Alfred was sat on the pushed down toilet seat and given tissues to blow his nose with, although, after Arthur's little display, his tears were mostly gone.

"You better not have made things worse," Alfred grumbled, wiping at the red circles under his eyes sullenly, before tossing it into the bin across from him.

Arthur smiled genuinely, "Don't worry, I haven't. I know what I'm doing. Believe me, ask to play football tomorrow, and I'll doubt they'll be able to nod fast enough."

Alfred looked down at his feet, sighing slightly. "You don't get it," he said after a minute, "They'll still treat me different, just now they'll talk about me behind my back instead of in front of me because they think I'll run off to you every time they mock me."

Arthur smiled, reaching out to rub his younger's hair. "Look, I know what I'm doing. Those idiots may treat you like that, but just wait and see. Everyone else will be thinking that you're the bravest one out there. Just wait until the rumour mill gets going."

Alfred looked sceptical, but nodded all the same and Arthur's smile widened a bit. "Look, here's a band aid. It'll make everything better, like always, right?"

Alfred smiled lightly, nodding and letting Arthur place them plaster smack bang in the middle of his forehead, laughing as Arthur chuckled at the sight.

"Come on," Arthur laughed, helping Alfred off the toilet seat, "Get back to class; it's almost time."

"Right on, Artie!"

And Arthur was right. The next day when Alfred came in, his desk had a handful of girls and some of the boys who also played football around it, waiting for him to arrive, wanting to know how he had friends _two years_ above him and whether or not his glasses were likely to be broken if he played football with them at lunch later.

-x-

Alfred was twelve when he realised how sick Arthur's mother was. Arthur had stopped inviting him over months beforehand, saying that he had a lot of homework and his mother was rather stressed too and Alfred thought nothing of it as he himself had been getting a lot of homework too recently.

But when the rarely used intercom called Arthurs name out over class one day in October, Alfred figured out that he was missing something. That night he shoved his homework in the bottom of his school bag elsewhere, where he'd forget about it, come tomorrow, and raced to Arthur's house.

But, when he got to the house, only a couple of feet down the lane, the doors were locked tight and there were no lights on upstairs, where Arthur should have been doing his homework by the lamp on his bedside table.

Alfred stared, before turning on his heel, and going inside.

The next day, Alfred got up early, just to actually catch Arthur before he got on the bus, to ask him what was going on. But his earliness for that day, and the next three, were fruitless as Arthur never showed up.

Though, the next Monday, Alfred got up, bright and early, as he'd been doing, to find his mother actually at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal, and his older sister holding his younger on her lap as she chewed on a piece of toast.

And Arthur was there too, in the corner of the counter, reading some gardening book he'd found on the shelf.

"A-Arthur?" Alfred asked quietly, and he looked up so Alfred could see the dark circles under his eyes, "What's going on?"

"Alfred, his mother is sick," his older sister called out, jigging Maddie on her leg and earning a squeal of approval from the younger, who had been growing increasingly worried about the silence.

Alfred looked back at Arthur, who had gone back to reading the book, obviously not giving a damn shit about any of the words on the page. "Are you okay?"

"_I'm _okay," he said finally, barely loud enough for Alfred to hear.

"How sick?"

"_Very _sick."

Alfred sat down on the tiled floor beside Arthur's legs. "Is she in hospital again?"

"Yes."

With a sigh, Alfred continued on. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was a big enough deal to concern you with. But she got really sick, really fast." Arthur grimaced slightly and closed the book. "I came because I didn't think it was fair to not let you know."

Alfred managed a small smile, despite the circumstances."Thank you."

Suddenly, Alfred's mother was leaning over the counter, a determined look etched upon her face. "I'll drop you two to the hospital whenever you need to go," she said, smiling lightly and supportively at Arthur, a smile Alfred had even rarely seen on her.

"Alright," Arthur replied quietly, sliding the book away, "When? Now?"

She let out a light laugh, "You sure are eager, aren't you?"

Alfred scowled. Even he knew that it wasn't the time to be cracking jokes. "Yeah, let's go now, Mom."

The car ride in was in silence, and once they were in Alfred's mother excused herself and left them to their own devices.

"Her room is this way," Arthur told him, brushing off his sleeve lightly, "Are you sure you don't mind missing school?"

"Absolutely," Alfred said reassuringly, something he never knew he could do.

When they reached the room, Arthur's mother was asleep and Arthur informed Alfred that she had been for at least three days. Arthur sat in the chair beside her and Alfred sat in one beside him. Arthur told him that if they kept talking, she could maybe hear them and wake up.

So they talked and talked and talked; about what Arthur thought he had missed and what Alfred had done in class all week, until Alfred's mother showed up again and brought them home, at almost night time, to Alfred's house where Arthur was allowed spend the night, because he'd be lonely in the big house all by himself.

And the cycle went on and on, for days turning into weeks and Arthur's mother never woke up, no matter how much they talked and talked and they soon were running out of things to say. Until one night, back in Alfred's house, when they were positioned around each other awkwardly in a single bed, there was a ringing phone and it was answered by almost silence and Alfred just tucked Arthur's head beneath his chin and listened to his friend pray silently. _Oh God no..._

Three days later, Alfred was put in an itchy suit which he met with no complaints and Arthur was in his, being as silent as he had been for those seventy eight hours.

Only once the funeral mass had begun did Alfred notice Arthur's brothers, all up at the top of the church with Arthur, eyes blank and almost hollow. Alfred would later find out that every night, when they had left, Arthur's brothers had came in and did talking of their own to the sleeping woman.

The funeral went by in a blur for Alfred, so he imagined that Arthur probably could remember nothing and as the casket went down into the dirt, Alfred reached over and grabbed Arthur's arm, pulling it lightly and whispered, "I'm really sorry."

Arthur didn't even act as if he had heard him.

Later on that afternoon, after Arthur was informed that he would be living with his eldest brother now and his girlfriend, they were in Arthur's bedroom, just gathering what stuff he would need for his plane ride to Britain.

Arthur made no effort to say anything, just nodding his head or shaking it when Alfred held up an item from the safety of his bed. Alfred sighed, sliding over to where Arthur was sitting, settling his head on Arthur's knees.

"You've got to say something," Alfred murmured. Arthur just shook his head again, looking down at the floor beside Alfred. "Come on, look!"

Arthur watched dismally as Alfred rooted around in his shirt pocket for something, producing a plaster as Arthur had done so many times before. Pushing up the leg of Arthur's trousers, he opened the plaster and stuck it neatly onto Arthur's leg, willing him to say something, anything.

And he did. Arthur smiled, but it was the most bitter smile Alfred had ever seen in his few years as he leaned in and brushed his lips off Alfred's cheek.

"Not this time, Alfred. It's not going to fix anything this time."

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